In This Light
by crackinthecup
Summary: Aredhel, Elenwë, and archery. Celegorm interrupts. Femslash Aredhel/Elenwë.


An arrow twanged through the air. As it sank into the bole of the tree, Irissë let out a victorious whoop, the eighth one so far, and turned to grin at Elenwë. Barefoot she had returned from the Dance, still arrayed in the leaf-green garments preferred by Vána's followers; an overlong tunic or a fluttering dress—Irissë was not sure which—that drooped off one freckled shoulder. (Elenwë had told her of other dances too, synods of chanting and undulation and bare skin stippled with the light of Telperion; but those none were allowed to witness.) Quietly she had settled into a dropped kneel in the grass, back pressed against a mossy boulder, golden curls disheveled and lovely as they brushed her still-flushed cheeks. And now small clusters of _laurinquë_ flowers seemed to float about her, while on her lap drooled a wreath the color of melted butter. But at Irissë's exclamation her fingers stilled, and she looked up with a smile. Laurelin and Telperion were both mellow, glowing in unison, and in the play of light and shadow Elenwë's brown eyes sparkled. Irissë's grin turned dreamy; she let the bow dangle loosely from her fingers and would have moved closer.

"Terrible shot, Irissë!" Tyelkormo hollered from some way off. With a roll of the eyes, Irissë swiveled round to face him, hands poking into her hips. The movement drove the tip of the bow into the flesh just beneath her ribcage.

"Ow!" she muttered, letting her arms swing back down.

"You sure you know how to use that?"

Irissë glowered. "And you do?" she shot back, skeptical.

Tyelkormo let out a huff of breath, and with an easy grin he picked the bow out of the grip of a sputtering Irissë. "Sit back and watch, kid."

Irissë stepped to the side as he usurped her spot. She crossed her arms over her chest, and slid a conspiratorial glance toward Elenwë. "Archery with no arrows, cousin?" Elenwë giggled, and Tyelkormo pulled a face.

"You're doing it again," he accused and jabbed a finger in Irissë's general direction.

"Doing what?" She blinked at him, though the corner of her lips quirked upward just the slightest bit. She unslung the quiver of arrows from her hip and moved over to him seemingly in an offer of peace.

But instead of handing him the quiver, she hooked an arm through his and dragged him a few paces off.

"You _are_ doing it again," he laughed down at her, and she tightened her grip on his arm.

"If by 'it' you mean attempting to win the heart of that glorious lady over there while you interrupt me with your boorish ways—"

"Uncalled for, cousin."

"Then yes," Irissë hissed, ignoring him, "I am doing it again. And I'd appreciate some help over here."

Tyelkormo looked truly thoughtful for a long moment. "If you are asking for advice on wooing techniques—"

Irissë shook her head. "I doubt showing off my new spear would make much headway with Elenwë."

"I was hardly showing it off—"

"Yes you were."

"I was not, and anyway, Irissë, you have to admit it was a smash. She was impressed."

"Horrified, Tyelko, she was horrified. Someone with such delicate sensibilities—"

"You never minded."

"And do I look like someone with delicate sensibilities?"

At that Tyelkormo snorted, and Irissë grinned up at him. "Now _go_. She already knows I associate with you."

Tyelkormo passed the bow back, flashing a dazzling smile. "A keeper, then."

"Go," Irissë laughed at him. With an incline of the head he strode off, probably in search of Oromë.

Irissë watched his retreating back for a while longer, and then with a fond shake of the head, she spun round. "Sorry about that."

Elenwë smiled placidly from among the flowers. "Tyelkormo, wasn't it?"

Irissë beamed at her. She deposited the bow and quiver beside the boulder and plopped down next to Elenwë. "That's him."

Elenwë looked like she wanted to say something else, something _more_ , but with a dusting of golden eyelashes she bent her eyes back to her flower wreath. For the space of long seconds Irissë stopped breathing.

"Elenwë," she began, having no idea how to articulate the honeyed, wriggling feeling inside her. But Elenwë's hand darted out to clasp her own, and with concern corrugated in her features she looked up at Irissë.

"You're hurt," she murmured, caressing a thumb over the calluses pounded deep into Irissë's fingers, and Irissë's breath unloosed only to catch in her throat.

"It's … It's nothing." She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry.

"It's the practice, isn't it?" Elenwë's eyes flicked to the bow. Her fingers were warm, slender against her own, and Irissë found herself tightening her hold. She felt the rush of blood beneath her skin, and saw it mirrored in the crimson splotched high over Elenwë's cheeks.

Irissë nodded, and tried for a grin. "I've been getting better."

"Hmm." Elenwë trailed absent, tickling strokes along her palm, moving lower to the inside of her wrist, and Irissë let out a happy little sigh. "I could get you patched up," Elenwë mused, though she settled back more comfortably against the great stone. "I know a root that can be steeped, and the infusion will heal this in a twinkling."

"I wouldn't mind that."

Elenwë giggled again, and lifted bright eyes to meet Irissë's gaze as their fingers threaded together. "Later?"

"Later."


End file.
